


Gloves

by DozingNeko



Series: Johnlock "Daily" Prompts [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Johnlock, Glove Kink, I love these guys, Leather, M/M, Sherlock is Shy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14335401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DozingNeko/pseuds/DozingNeko
Summary: Dreams don't have to come true - but sometimes they won't be suppressed, either.





	Gloves

Sherlock was still staring at him in that way that made him feel like a specimen under a microscope. Pupils were huge, thick black moons that bore down at him like a silent threat. John would always try to remain strong in the presence of his inspection, his intent eyes nearly the size of fifty cent coins that would easily get his way if I gave him half the chance. 

“Gloves?” John echoed him, straining the pale of his detective's cheeks a light fuchsia. 

The blush only deepened, his body turning away and hands reaching behind his back. “Provided it wouldn't be an odd or uncomfortable experience for  _ you.” _ He clarified shyly, lowering his gaze to the floor just between his stocking feet. “After all, it was only a dream. I've deleted plenty of dreams. I could continue to-”

“Nah-ah-ah.” John cut him off, waving my hand and glowering at him. “You don't have to cram all your desires into a shoebox hidden under the floorboards in your mind.”

John watched him sniff haughtily and plop down into his chair, scratching the tip of his nose. “I'm not doing it for _ your _ sake.” He assured bluntly, crossing his arms and swinging his legs over the arm of the chair and leaning back to gaze at the ceiling. 

“Of course not.” John nodded. “You don't have an altruistic bone in your body.”

“Not a one.” Sherlock agreed. 

John rolled his eyes. “You're purely selfish.”

“In every aspect of the word.”

“Well, while you're here being a prick, some of us work for a living.”

Sherlock hummed, drawing his knees up to his chest and curling into his seat. “How plebeian.”

“Mm, quite. Enjoy your sulk, you great lump.”

Sherlock turned his head. “I'm meditating.”

John snorted, laughing as he made for the door. “Your mediation takes on many forms, my love.” John chided playfully. “See you later, Sherlock.”

“Bon voyage, mon cher homme.” Sherlock drawled, stretching out as if he were no more than a viscous fluid at a meniscus. 

 

It wasn't easy to delete the dream. 

Sherlock _ did _ try, despite John telling him otherwise, not to stifle himself for the doctor's sake. However, it proved to be impossible even by trying. Each time he discarded the dream, it returned full force, the ethereal sensation of leather wrapped around his cock, supple and smooth as it stroked him, John's warmth radiating through the material, familiar and comforting, the body at his back the heart of such sensation. Smooth leather pressed into his intergluteal cleft and into his slick arse, sudden but not unwelcome, immediately wreaking havoc on his prostate, stretching him three fingers wide before a prick was poised and ready to shove onto him. 

_ “John-” _ he sobbed himself awake, snapping upright. 

At his side, John flapped about before managing to roll over, staring up at him with huge eyes. “What?” He demanded, sitting up to touch Sherlock's face. “You're okay? Sherlock?”

Sherlock melted into him with a long whine. “I have to go to the toilet." He complained in a low voice. 

John narrowed his eyes. “You-”

_ “I came in my pants.” _ Sherlock whimpered into his shoulder. 

With considerable effort, John managed not to giggle at poor Sherlock's expense. “Alright. D’you need-”

_ “If you follow me into the toilet I'll kill you.” _ Sherlock declared, dragging himself away and awkwardly wobbling into the loo with a hung head. 

John waited several minutes, watching Sherlock return with his clothes bundled in front of his cock. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sherlock glared. “Please, let's not.”

“Fine, fine.” John raised his hands in surrender, rolling onto his belly and closing his eyes. 

The detective crawled back into bed, curling up on his side and sighing sharply. 

“Gloves?”

“Goodnight, John.”


End file.
